Diviners were everywhere these days, it seemed. But Bill was fairly certain there was only one person who had the gift to do that sort of healing, only one person desperate enough to try it. A brother’s love was strong, and the Campbell brothers’ love was stronger than most. It was clear that Memphis would do anything to protect Isaiah, even lie to Bill about his own abilities. Fine. If Memphis Campbell wanted to play the rabbit and hide in his warren, then Bill would play the fox and wait him out. Memphis would surface in time. And Bill would be right there waiting.
And if not, well, he might have to smoke the rabbit out.
Sometimes a child who’d had one fit suffered another.
It happened all the time.
Nearby, a crow cawed, making Bill jump. “Go on, bird! Git! Shoo!”
It squawked again, passing so close to Bill’s head that he gasped at the suddenness of feathers against his cheek like a slap.
Theta waited impatiently for Henry on the corner of Broadway and West Forty-second Street. At last, she saw him sauntering up the street, his beaten boater hat perched on his head. “There you are! Come on, kid. You’re gonna be late.”
She linked her arm through Henry’s, and the two of them hurried as best they could in the bustle of Broadway, past streets housing the many music publishers of Tin Pan Alley, till they came to the address they wanted. Henry stared up at the four-story row house.
“Bertram G. Huffstadler and Company, Music Publishers,” he said on a shaky exhale.
“Don’t have kittens, Hen. They’re gonna love you.”
“That’s what you said about Mills. And Leo Feist. And Witmark and Sons.”
“Witmark and his Sons are a bunch of chumps.”
“They’re one of the biggest music publishers in the biz.”
“And they didn’t publish you, so they’re chumps.”
Henry smiled. “You’re my best girl.”
“Somebody should be. Hold on, let me fix your tie,” Theta said, adjusting the knot. “There. Now. Let’s hear your spiel.”
With a big razzmatazz smile, Henry stuck out his hand and said, “How do you do? I’m Henry Bartholomew DuBois the Fourth. And I’m the next big thing.” He dropped the hand and the smile, pacing nervously in front of the stoop. “I can’t say that.”
“But you are the next big thing.”